


Compliance

by beadedslipper



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M, NSFW, SMUTTY SMUT
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-23
Updated: 2014-08-23
Packaged: 2018-02-14 08:09:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2184255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beadedslipper/pseuds/beadedslipper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bellamy likes it when Clarke gives him orders.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Compliance

**Author's Note:**

> I have three Bellarke fics ready to go, this one, another oneshot, and a multi-chap. I figured I'd get the one I'm nervous about out of the way first. I'm not a smut writer, not really, so if you guys hate it let me know and I'll never do it again. But I hope you like it! =)
> 
> I'll be posting more fic this weekend so keep an eye out. =D

On the Ark Bellamy lived his life being told what to do.  It sucked.  Now that he was on the ground, no one dared to order him to do anything and he liked it that way.  Sure, the braver ones out of the hundred, Raven, Octavia, Jasper…Spacewalker, would sometimes work up the balls to disagree with him.  But no one ever outright ordered him.  No one except Clarke.

At first he’d hated it, this uppity member of the privileged questioning, challenging,  _undermining_  his authority.  But once he started caring about everyone’s survival, not just his and Octavia’s, they found out they worked well together.  Like, really well.  Between the two of them they somehow managed to keep more kids alive than dead.  Like Clarke said, eleven was still too many, but like he said, you couldn’t save everyone.

Somewhere along the way, between late night meetings and running for their lives and doing everything they could to keep what was left of their people from falling apart, things changed.  Don’t ask him how but one day he woke up and realized that Clarke was more to him than his pigheaded, moralistic counterpart.  He never imagined she’d feel the same and so he never planned to do anything about it.  That’s why it came as quite a shock when, one day after his scouting party had got cut off from camp and it had taken them three days to get back and he was the last one through the gate, dirty and bloody and sleep-deprived, she ambushed him in front of every single one of their not-so-shocked people and planted the most relieved, desperate kiss on his lips.

After that things were different and yet they were the same.  They were the same because he and Clarke still ran the camp together, still drove themselves mad trying to keep their ragtag band alive for just one more week, still bickered and argued and teased just like always.  They were different because now, when he got mad, Clarke would stand beside him, quiet and stoic, and slip her hand into his, just letting him know she was there.  They were different because sometimes she would yank him behind a tent or a tree or the dropship and press him up against it and kiss him senseless and because sometimes he would do the same thing to her.  They were different because he didn’t take a different girl to his tent every night.  Instead whoever got there first would slip into their nest of furs and blankets and warm things up for the other and if they both had the energy (and often even when they didn’t) they would wrap themselves up in each other and remember that there were good things in life.

It was sometime during one of those nights that Bellamy realized something totally unexpected about himself.

———————————————————————————————————————————-

Clarke perched on a small hill within shouting distance of camp, her back resting against a tree.  She was thinking.  Bellamy had been acting weird lately.  Stars knew she loved the idiot (and who would have ever guessed that?) but sometimes he confused the hell out of her.  Things were good between them but lately he would suddenly clam up for no reason.

The first time it happened it had been totally out of the blue.  He was being an obstinate idiot and refusing to listen to her and so they were having it out in the middle of camp.  One minute he was arguing just as fiercely as she was.  She was getting more and more frustrated, she felt too hot and had completely lost her composure, practically screaming into his face.  All of a sudden he stopped, gulped, took a step back.  He waved a hand, saying ‘Fine.  Whatever.’  And then he just walked away.  If she hadn’t been so shocked to suddenly get her way she totally would have marched off after him.

The second time he pulled the same stunt that’s exactly what she did, stomping after him and almost running to keep up with his long strides.  He made it around the back of the drop ship before she caught him, grabbing his arm and yanking him around to face her.

_“What the hell was that?!”_

_Bellamy gritted his teeth.  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”_

_“That!  Back there!  You just…gave in!  I want to know why.”_

_He raised an incredulous eyebrow, smirking devilishly the way he did when he was trying to distract her.  “Seriously princess?  You’re arguing with me because I agreed with you?  There’s no pleasing you huh?”_

_She frowned, realizing that was exactly what she was doing.  “Maybe…but this isn’t like you.  What’s going on Bell?”_

_He smiled, easygoing and careless, and crouched to plant a kiss on her cheek.  “Relax princess.  You’ve got nothing to worry about.  Promise.”_

Not even an hour ago he had done it again and, despite his reassurances, she was officially worried.  So she decided to get away from the noise of camp and puzzle it out.  He would kill her himself if he found out she was out here on her own, but if she managed to fix whatever was wrong with him she would consider it worth it.

_Alright, what’s the common factor here?  We’re arguing and Bellamy suddenly just gives in for no reason.  I have been getting pretty…fired up…lately.  Maybe he doesn’t like when I argue with him?  No.  That wouldn’t make sense.  I’ve been arguing with him from the minute we met.  If he didn’t like it we would never have gotten this far._ Her eyes widened as an idea struck her.   _So maybe it’s that he **does**  like it…_

She had to test this hypothesis.  Now.

She trekked back to camp as quickly as possible, bursting through the gates and screwing her face into her most furious, self-righteous look.

“Bellamy!” She yelled loud enough that the whole camp paused what they were doing to look up at her.

“Uh oh.” Monty whispered to her left.  “Mom’s angry.”

“What did Dad do this time?” Jasper wondered.

Her lips twitched but she quickly schooled her features.  “Bellamy!” She bellowed again, marching forward into the center of camp.  She saw him standing by the water trough and giving orders to a couple gunners.  “There you are!” She exclaimed.

He looked up, clearly surprised at her antagonistic approach.  “Who put a pinecone in your shorts princess?”

She ignored him.  “We need more seaweed.  We’re running low.”

His lips turned down in a confused frown before he shrugged.  “Okay.  I’ll send some hunters out tomorrow.”

She shook her head, golden hair tossing around her.  “That’s not good enough.  By tomorrow we could have another hurricane or a radiation storm or god knows what and be trapped here for days.  We’d run out of the seaweed long before we could get more.”

“You can’t know that.  It’s foolish to go out now when the day’s half over.  We can come back with a lot more than seaweed if we just wait ‘til tomorrow.”

Clarke knew he had a point.  If it were any other argument now would be when she would agree with him.  But she had to know.  She steeled her jaw and squared her shoulders.

“Bellamy.  I’m telling you, go get the seaweed now.”

Her hands were on her hips and her blue eyes flashed, daring him to contradict her.  She studied him closely.  He gulped, clearing his throat, his eyes darting away and around and anywhere that wasn’t her.  It even looked like he was blushing.  Interesting.

He cleared his throat again, looking down and to the side.  “Fine.” He agreed.  “Miller.  Jasper.  Let’s go.”

Miller and Jasper grabbed their gear with mutterings of the word whipped.  They shut up quick when Bellamy pinned them with a glare.  The three of them made their way towards the gate.  Just as they were about to leave Clarke called out.

“Oh, and Bellamy!?”  He looked back at her.  She smirked.  “Be back by nightfall.”  Even from here she could see him swallow.  If anyone asked her later she would swear that a slight shiver passed over him.

Experiment: Success.

——————————————————————————————————————————-

Bellamy trudged back through camp, head held low and a bag of goddamn seaweed dragging from his fingers.  There was a scant ring of color around the horizon.  That was nice.  He technically made it back before dark.

He was dirty and frustrated.  Frustrated with Clarke for ordering him to go get fucking seaweed this late in the day.  Frustrated with himself for being too turned on by her low, sultry voice giving him an order to say no.  For once he really hoped that something went wrong and Clarke was working late at the infirmary because he really did not have the energy for the argument he owed her right now.

Of course he’s not that lucky and when he approached his (their) tent and it was lit from inside he seriously considered going and sleeping on the top floor of the drop ship.

Life’s too short to go to bed angry, isn’t that how the saying goes?  So, instead, he pushed the flap aside and slipped into the tent.

She was there, waiting for him, sitting cross legged on his (their) bed, totally naked but for her tiny white panties and god-fucking-dammit if something below his belt didn’t twitch at the sight.  He’s mad at her, but he’s still male.

She smiled like the cat that got the cream and said, “Welcome home honey.”

Well, he supposed makeup sex is technically not going to bed angry.  And he was still tired but if that spot below his belt could rise to the occasion than the rest of him sure as fuck would too.  “You know, I was mad at you but this kind of makes up for it.  Have you considered making this a habit?”  She just smiled.

He reached for the hem of his shirt, grabbing it and starting to roll it up his torso when she suddenly said “Stop.”

His eyebrows shot to his hairline.  “What?  Why?”  Was this not going where he thought it was?  Then why the hell was she naked?

For a second she looked nervous, unsure, but she quickly planted the confident look back on her face.  “Do you trust me?”

“Yes?” It came out sounding more like a question.  “Why…?”

“Because you’re going to do exactly as I say.  Understand?”

He gulped.  He wasn’t sure…but he was pretty sure he knew where she was going with this and if he was right that meant that she figured him out and oh  _fuck him_.  This might shape up to be the best night of his life.

She arched a delicate, blonde eyebrow and he realized he still hadn’t responded.  He nodded quickly.

“Good.  Then don’t move and don’t make a sound.”

He shivered at the command, at the fire in her eyes and the frown on her lips.  This.  This right here is why he can’t get anything done anymore when she argues with him. 

He was determined to follow her orders, if only to see where she’s going with this, and so he pressed his lips firmly together and locked his knees.  And it’s all going perfectly until she  _cups her fucking breasts_  and starts  _massaging_ them. 

Somewhere in the back of his mind he knew that their princess wasn’t a prude.  In the time after Finn and before him she still had needs and she wasn’t seeing anyone else so she had to be taking care of herself.  But there is knowing and then there is  _knowing_.  The noise he made in the back of his throat was not strictly human and sounded needy as fuck.  Her eyes pinned him with a piercing glare and her hands stopped moving.

“Not. A. Sound.” She reminded him, her tone making his blood surge and gather in a place that was suddenly crying out for attention.

When he nodded his understanding she rewarded him by starting to move her hands again.  Between her fingers he could see glimpses of dusky peaks just starting to pebble.  He salivated, wanting his teeth to be her fingers that were pinching and pulling.  Her eyes fell closed and he wished she would open them so he could at least have that connection.  One of her hands left her breasts and traced a teasing trail down her torso.  It ghosted around her belly button before settling just above the hem of her tiny knickers.  Then it stroked.  Back and forth, back and forth until he could see her stomach muscles twitching.

At this point he was literally biting his tongue with the effort of not making a sound, not offering to replace her hand with his.  He nearly sagged with relief when she speaks.

“Tell me what you would do if I let you touch me right now.”

Bellamy was so relieved to finally be able to participate that he opened his mouth and for a second no words came out.  He closed his mouth, swallowed, and tried again.

“It’s hard to know where to start.” He told her honestly, eyes roving over the expanse of exposed skin.

She smirked, her hands laying still on her body.  “That’s not an action.”

“Oh.  Right.” He’s usually more eloquent than this.  She’s struck him dumb.  He shuts his eyes and shakes his head, trying to scramble his thoughts into place.  When he opens his eyes again it’s her turn to suppress a shiver because his pupils are blown wide and so dark.  His voice is husky and full of intent.

“If it were my hands right now I would slide one below the hem of your little white panties.  I hate them.  They’re driving me insane.”

She didn’t apologize, just let her hand follow the path he described.  She raised a challenging brow.  “Then what?”

“Then…oh my god Clarke…”

Her eyes flashed.  “Until I say otherwise, call me princess.”

He had to bite his tongue to keep the pitiful sound from escaping his throat.

“Princess.” He obeyed.  “I would run my hands through your curls.  I can feel the warmth gathering there already.”

He watched the shape of her hand as she cupped her mound.  His fingers twitched.

“I would circle your opening, touching you everywhere but where you needed me until you were writhing underneath me.”

Her hands continued to carry out the words from his lips.  He could see the shape of her finger as it teased her opening, see the way her hips bucked and the sweat beaded on her forehead.

At this point watching her was almost physically painful.  He quivered with the need to touch her and his cock surged against his jeans.  He couldn’t help it.  He begged.  “Princess, please.”

Bless her, she understood she was reaching the point of cruelty because she said, “Sit down, take yourself out.  Keep talking.”  Three short, succinct commands but the effect it had on his body was like an inferno.  With embarrassing speed he ripped his pants open, sighing in relief when he was no longer constrained by restrictive material.

He plopped on the ground, fully clothed but for his cock bobbing between his legs.  He braced his left arm behind him and his right reached for his cock.  He stopped, fingers hovering a hairsbreadth from his throbbing flesh.  Clarke hadn’t said he could touch himself yet.  His eyes snapped to her to see her watching him with satisfaction, her blue eyes lingering hungrily on his manhood.  It was a small comfort to see that this was affecting her as much as it was him.

“Princess?”

She smiled that Cheshire smile.  “Beg me.”

His balls twitched.  “What?”

“You heard me.  Beg me to let you touch yourself.”

Well, if he was gonna do this he might as well follow her example and commit.  “Please princess.  I’m going crazy over here.  If I can’t touch you then please let me touch myself.  I need to, it hurts, it burns, please.”

“Alright.”

Immediately he wrapped his hand around himself, shuddering in relief.

“Thank you princess.”

“Now keep talking.”

“Yes princess.  If it were me touching you I would stop teasing now.  I would rub my cock through your folds, feel how wet you are for me.  You would feel so good that I just couldn’t wait anymore so I would push inside you.”

They both sighed in relief when her fingers finally breached her entrance.

“I would thrust into you, hitting your clit with my hips every time, over and over and over.”

She moaned and her fingers matched the cadence of his words.  His hands mirrored what she was doing to her body.  When she pulled away his fist bunched up around the mushroom-shaped head of his member.  And when she pushed in he pulled down so that his cock was presented obscenely in his fist.

“Oh my god.  My princess.  So beautiful.  So good.”

She whimpered, her thrusts turning more violent.  He watched her hungrily, adoringly, desperately.

“I’m so close.  I’m gonna…”

Her eyes snapped open, piercing blue.  “Stop!” She commanded.

He whimpered.  What was she doing?

The next thing he knew she was standing up and stripping those useless panties away and he suddenly had a lapful of very amorous Clarke.  He groaned.  So wet.  He would slide right into her.

That seemed to be her intention because without preamble she grabbed him in hand and sank onto him full length.  He howled.  She muttered in his ear, “You don’t come until I say you can.”

He could only pant into her skin as she took her pleasure from him.  And what a pleasure it was.  She slid up until he nearly slipped out of her before slamming back down and twisting in a way that had him spouting incoherent praise.  Her hands were fisted in his hair and she pulled his head back so she could stare into his eyes.

Her eyes captured him and, despite the violence of their passion, for long moments it was surprisingly intimate between them and for a minute the physical pressure was secondary to their emotional closeness.  She saw him.  She saw his desires, even the ones he tried to hide and she accepted them.  Encouraged them even.

It didn’t last long though, the fire starting to burn hotter in the scant air between them.  He could feel his balls contracting.  He didn’t know how much longer he could last.  In desperation he began to buck his hips, reveling in the high pitched mewls she gave him with every brush of her clit.  Just as he felt he would have no choice but to disobey her he felt her walls flutter around him and she fell.  With the last of her sanity she issued a final order.

“Come.”

He obeyed.  Enthusiastically.  Both of their orgasms seemed to go on forever, her walls squeezing him driving him forward just as the feeling of his heat filling her extended her pleasure.

When it finally ended they were both breathing heavily, totally boneless.  Clarke was draped across his chest, her sensitive breasts aching against the soft material of his t-shirt.

“So.” She gasped.

He chuckled.  “So.”

“You like being told what to do?”

He blushed.  “Only when it’s you.”

“Was it okay?”

“Oh yeah.  More than.”

She snuggled into him.  “I’m sorry about earlier, with the seaweed.  I had to test my hypothesis.”

“Don’t worry princess.  It was worth it.”

So worth it.

———————————————————————————————————————————-

It wasn’t until the next morning, when they were both back to their leaderly duties, that Bellamy realized one very important consequence from last night.

Princess.  He would never be able to use that nickname the same way again.


End file.
